Beautiful
by The Rebellious Observer
Summary: She never claimed she wasn’t vain. (Femmeslash, only not. Beware of plot twists. Rated a very heavy R.)


Title: Beautiful

Rating: A very heavy R

Summary: She never claimed she wasn't vain. (Femmeslash, only not. Beware of plot twists.)

Disclaimer: No, I don't own So Weird. Because if I did, there would be something very wrong with the world.

Author's note: There must be something wrong with me. That is the only possible way I could have come up with a fic this odd. I don't know how I do it. ^_~

Warning: There are some rather sexually-explicit scenes in this story, and slight cursing. Beware.

Fiona saw the girl look at her, and she liked it.

She liked the lust buried just beneath the surface of the young woman's eyes—the smooth and creamy skin under the tight shirt and miniskirt; the glossy brown hair that hung at her chin and the frailty of the girl's tiny bones and teeny waist.

The girl smiled, then—shy but coy—and Fiona felt a tingle of excitement run through her spine down to the tips of her breasts and the area just between her thighs.

"Back so soon?" she asked, looking at Fiona from beneath a fan of dark eyelashes—her voiced laced with laughter and promises.

"You know I'll always come back to you," said Fi. 

"I need you. That won't ever change."

"I know," was the response.

"I know—but I wanted to hear you say it. I…like it when you talk to me like that," she continued, her voice a husky, hesitant assertion as she broke off.

Fiona stepped closer, pressing her mouth against her lover's in a hungry kiss; the girl was always so cold—so very cold until Fi was touching her flesh with her hands; pinching her nipples through the fabric of her blouse and running her palms up and down across her partner's trembling thighs.

The girl gasped—threw her head back and arched against this familiar pleasure.

Then they were kissing; there were white and lovely hands under Fiona's clothes and her knees felt weak when her underwear pooled around her ankles and her toes on the cold tile floor.

Gasps rent the air with breathless intensity as fingers probed and prodded and slipped in deep; wetness on bare thighs and throaty moans quickly hushed, and they had to be quiet so they wouldn't be caught, but it was hard not to scream.

Fi choked back a cry as the fingers wriggled and teased—caressing her till her heat was clenching around the slender digits buried inside her body; she felt her lover's answering orgasm around her own fingers and they rode the pleasure out together, kissing wet and hungry and perfect over small and sticky fingers and tingling breasts—nipples still pebbled where they brushed against one another and sweat rolling slowly down their young and beautiful bodies to explore nooks and crannies, curves and crevices, and finally cool.

Fi backed away after a minute, removing the remainder of her now-wrinkled and sweat-lined clothes. She examined the fine planes and peaks and firm roundness of the other woman's naked body when she was done, and she smiled.

"You're so god-damned beautiful, Fi," she said to her lover; the woman in the mirror mouthed the words back and smiled.

Fi examined herself a bit longer in the mirror before making herself grab a wad of tissue papers, moving them up and down the mirror in practiced motions and wiping away the smudges she'd left on its smooth surface. 

The only evidence of her private passions quickly disappeared; she was naked and alone in the empty bathroom, and her lover-who-wasn't-real mimicked her from the other side of the mirror glass as she threw away the tissues, kicked aside her discarded blouse and mini-skirt and stepped into the shower.

___________________________________________________________

"There you are," said Carey, looking up at his wife as she walked into their bedroom after her shower, still wrapped snugly in her white towel while her newly-shorn hair dripped water onto her shoulders and down her back.

"I swear, you take longer showers than a fish," he laughed, and she smiled at him fondly as she shut their door.

"Maybe," Fi said slyly.

"But you know what I'm always in the mood for when I get out…" she continued, loosening her towel as she sauntered up to him; dropping it to the floor with a flourish and pushing him down—yanking off his boxers and ratty t-shirt.

Carey did not protest as the book he was reading slipped to the floor; Fi was straddling him and licking along his neck and jaw line, and then he was flipping them over and covering her mouth with his own, and she moaned and clutched his back.

As he moved inside her, she bucked and arched and whispered dirty things she wanted him to do to her _right now_, and he was struck, as he always was, by how utterly beautiful she was beneath him; he marveled at the look on her face as he thrust into her and took a hardened nipple into his mouth—the way she looked him right in the eyes as she clenched around his member and sent him over the edge, and then she was screaming as she found her own release under his hips and hands and mouth.

He was panting as he held her afterwards—caressing her smooth skin while he looked at her and said—like he always said—"You're so god-damned beautiful, Fi…you're so beautiful…" and she smiled.

_I know_, she thought. _I know_.

She kept smiling as he moved over her again, kissing her tenderly across her chest down past her navel as she stared up at the mirror over the bed.

Another author's note: I think I'm the only one as of yet to write a Fi/herself story. I am not necessarily _proud_ of this… ^_~ Oh, well. I hope that _someone_ out there likes it, at least. #is hopeful# ^__^


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